


don't you look pretty

by lady__sansa_stark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Sansa seducing Petyr because yolo, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady__sansa_stark/pseuds/lady__sansa_stark
Summary: "“Don’t you look pretty in this?” he murmured.Petyr couldn’t help but trace swirls along her stomach, across the peaks of her hips, down to where her own fingers lay motionless between her thighs. His lazy motions recorded by the glistening need that coated his fingers. The glistening need that he coaxed from her; that, if she asked, he wasn't sure if he would deny her another.Sansa’s face was tinged pink, her eyes half-closed as she let the waves of her orgasm dull down into a soft thud. Still - he saw her smile when he called herpretty."





	don't you look pretty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ocularis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocularis/gifts).



> For @catladyofthecanals on tumblr who gave me the ficlet prompt: _“Don’t you look pretty in this?” Petyr taunted._
> 
> [You bitch always asking for fics….jk thanks ;)
> 
> I went with something different than that other fic (and probably from what you were expecting?), I hope you don’t mind. Didn't edit this, but I hope you like it!!]

              “Don’t you look pretty in this?” he murmured. 

              Petyr couldn’t help but trace swirls along her stomach, across the peaks of her hips, down to where her own fingers lay motionless between her thighs. His lazy motions recorded by the glistening need that coated his fingers. The glistening need that he coaxed from her; that, if she asked, he wasn't sure if he would deny her another.

              Sansa’s face was tinged pink, her eyes half-closed as she let the waves of her orgasm dull down into a soft thud. Still - he saw her smile when he called her  _ pretty _ .

              Still - he felt something  _ pull _ inside him at that. At how his words, his touch, could undo her completely. Worse: how he was so fucking tempted to pull his cock out and thrust himself deep inside her ready cunt. It wouldn’t take long at all for Sansa to get wet again. For Sansa’s sweet cries to echo of the walls and resonant against the frantic hammering of his heart.

              Petyr could still feel the ghost of her cunt clenching around his fingers. How fucking good would she feel against his cock?

              Too good.

              So good, his fingers trailed along her inner leg to her knee, bridging over to his trousers and resting on the hardness there.  _ Just the tip _ , he thought. Just a  _ taste _ .

_ No _ .

              Petyr let his other hand paint her thighs with her come. Van Gogh swirls glistening against her ivory skin. He had a sudden urge to nip at the flesh there. To dig his nails and spread her legs apart - eat her and fuck her and fuck her and fuck her-

              His hand fell from her thigh.

              This was...this was too far. Too fucking far, letting Sansa get to him. Letting his own hands trail beneath her skirt and find its way to the join of her legs. Find her  _ wet _ and wanting. For him.

              Good  _ gods _ he was going to get fucking  _ fired _ if anyone found out.

              He moved to right her skirt back, but reigned the movement. ( _ You’ve already done  _ this _ ,  _ his mind teased.  _ What’s so wrong with helping your student put their clothes back? _ ). 

              Because it would be an admission to what he’d done. That  _ he _ had been the one to lure Sansa into his classroom after hours with the pretense of  _ tutoring _ . That  _ he _ had been the one to lock the door behind her, not before checking that the hallway was clear. That  _ he _ had been the one that kept his gaze all over her, imagining what it would be like to kiss her, touch her; what she looked like beneath her uniform.

              Except he wasn’t. Petyr was the fucking victim, and gods-damn if he didn’t let the sweet siren of Sansa Stark lull him into the heady embrace of sin.

_ Sansa _ batted her lashes after class asking for help with her English report (even though she was one of the best in all of the classes he taught).  _ Sansa _ had suggested locking the door because it was so late (she had club meetings until six, and this late in fall, anyone would worry about a student left alone in the dark with a male teacher).  _ Sansa _ had made sure the top buttons of her blouse were undone, made sure she leaned down in her desk and spread her legs  _ just enough _ . 

              Sansa was the devil wrapped in stockings and skirt. 

              She rose from his desk, eyes fixed on the  _ mess _ between her legs. The mess Petyr was guilty in leading on. The mess that he had surreptitiously licked clean from fingers before she returned from her high. 

              “I am, aren’t I?” She smiled. It took him a moment - the span of three frantic heartbeats - to realize she had been answering his whispered question. “But, Mr Baelish, I think I’d look prettier wearing  _ yours _ .”

              Petyr whipped his hand to stop hers, just inches from his need. “No, Sansa. Don’t.” 

              She pouted her lips (on purpose). And damn if Petyr didn’t want to kiss her, to see what she tasted like. “ _ Please _ ? You helped me, and it’s only  _ polite _ for me to do the same…”

              “Sansa, this…” He paused, glancing at the sliver of window in the door. The hall light was still on - they probably weren’t the only people left. “This  _ can’t _ happen again. You  _ shouldn’t _ have these sorts of thoughts about someone as old as your father.” Go play with any of the boys or girls that would  _ die _ to have you. 

_ Go play with someone else’s heart. _

              Even as he thought it, the idea hurt Petyr’s.

              Sansa cocked her head, a smile playing at her lips - one that Petyr was sure he’d used on many women before. The sight of it on someone like her...it didn’t help to soften his hardness.

              “I  _ shouldn’t _ , yes,” she admitted. Let her free hand draw circles on her thigh, as if she knew what exactly Petyr wanted to do. All the while, her startling blue eyes never left his. “I shouldn’t, but I don’t think  _ you _ should, either, Mr Baelish.”

              This temptress…

              She licked her lips (a motion Petyr couldn’t help but watch), as she continued: “And yet, you  _ touched _ me, Mr Baelish… So why can’t I touch you?”

              Because-

              Because-

_ Because I want you to _ .

              Would it really hurt at this point? With the way he had made her squirm, writhe, moan beneath his touch? He was already  _ fucked _ , why not  _ fuck _ , too? Why not dive into the sea of Sansa and let her waves drown him completely.

              Petyr opened his mouth-

_ Knock knock _ .

              Fuck.

              Two knocks, short abrupt. This late on a workday.

_ Fuck _ .

              “Get down,” Petyr hissed at Sansa, practically shoving her beneath his desk. Her skirt was still askew and the room still smelt of her desire. But all of that could be excused away. If she was  _ seen _ ...

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck _ .

              “Mr Baelish.”

              Not a question. The man hadn’t even waited for Petyr to answer  _ Who is it? _ before opening the door. (Sansa must not have latched it properly, goods gods anyone could have walked in with his fingers inside her). Footsteps echoed against the walls (where Sansa’s own moans had minutes ago). Just as the last curls of auburn set beneath the wood, Petyr scooting his ass in the chair as close to the desk as possible. He thought his heart was going to explode.

              Especially when he saw the trickles of Sansa’s need glistening on the surface.

              He casually (or as casually as he could) wiped away the evidence with his shirt cuff as he asked casually (or as casually as he could), “What’s the matter, Headmaster?”

              The old man walked into the room, deftly avoiding the errant chairs, to stand two feet from Petyr’s desk. The harsh lighting set the wrinkles into black lines across his face. The closely-cropped white hair caught the light. He wasn’t displeased. Or pleased - it was impossible to tell the mood of the headmaster, not until he spoke. “Surprised to see you’re still on campus, Mr Baelish.”

              Tywin Lannister wasn’t a man to jape with. So it took a lot of self-control for Petyr to keep any conversation with the old man boring, platitudinous. “I’m just finishing up grading some tests I promised to hand back tomorrow.”

              Even though there were no tests in sight. 

              Tywin made note of that, too, eyes sweeping over the surface that was surprisingly devoid of...anything. If one looked hard enough, they could see a Sansa-shaped silhouette The headmaster, thank gods, was too bored to question Petyr’s late-night antics. “The university exams are next week. Have you finished your recommendations? We need them sent as soon as possible, preferably before the students take their exams.”

              A jab at the fact that Petyr was behind on work. Petyr was  _ never  _ behind on work. Not until this semester. Not until a certain red-head sat in the front of his class, head in hand and blue eyes never once straying from him. 

              If she had been a poor student, all of this would have been easier. Or heck - any one of the other girls that had crushes on him. Petyr wasn’t young and charming like Loras down the hall, or even like Renly, but he had his own small collection of admirers. It was  _ this _ one that managed to snag his attention, too. But if Sansa had been bad with English, everything would be easy, silly schoolgirl crush or no. Send in a referral with the office to have Ms Stark transferred into a separate English class, and done. No more dealing with a girl who kept her legs spread  _ just a little too far _ . Who pressed her body  _ just into his _ when she went up to ask for grammar advice.

              Who was trailing her hands up the insides of his thighs.

_ Fuck, don’t _ , he screamed at her in his mind. Petyr tried to close his legs, but there was no room beneath the desk. The wood sides of it were pressed against the outside of his shins, and between thighs - a beautiful, not-so-innocent teenage girl. With hands growing closer closer closer to the traitorous hardness at the end of her journey.

              So Petyr just...sat there. Unmoving. Willing Sansa’s hands away. Hoping she had the common sense not to do this  _ now _ . Not to mention any movement could reveal (to the gods-damn Headmaster) that there was a student, here, after-hours. Half-naked.

              “Yes, apologies about the letters, though I promise I’ll have them out as soon as possible.”

              “By tonight.”

              Petyr bit the inside of his lip. He couldn’t argue with the Headmaster, not now. He just wanted Tywin out of here as soon as possible. “I’ll see what I can do.”

              The older man gave him a look of  _ You will do it _ , but only said, “Good.”

              Sansa reached the peak of her climb. Petyr hissed in a breath, tried his best to turn it into a yawn (stretching his arms and everything). Hoping Tywin would take the message, too, and get out of here before things got worse.

              She took her time with each tooth of the zipper. Whether to  _ torture _ Petyr, or to avoid suspicion…

              “Oh, and about that one student that wanted to go to university in London.”

              Her hands stopped just short of pulling him out.

              Petyr curled his toes in his shoes, clenched his fists. He tried his best to pay attention to Tywin, to the question, to the way the shadows deepened the sockets of his eyes. But all Petyr  _ wanted _ to focus on were the fingers wrapped lightly around his cock. “Yes, what about her?”

_ Don’t ask me where she is right now _ .

              Tywin glanced around the classroom, gaze never settling on any one thing in particular. Petyr was glad Sansa had placed her schoolbag on  _ this _ side of the desk. Only because it was easier for her to hoist herself on top, to reveal that she hadn’t been wearing anything beneath the plaid skirt:  _ For you, Mr Baelish. I know how much you like to look... _

              “Make sure she doesn’t disappoint the school. I won’t have her be a bigger blight for us than she already is.”

              Petyr was fucking glad that that  _ blight _ was too occupied to pay attention to this conversation. Because  _ that blight _ was currently running her fingers up and down his cock.

              Petyr’s leg shoved against the inner side of the desk, the wood creaking. He coughed to cover it up.

              “I promise she won’t cause any reputational trouble, Headmaster.”

_ Just go already _ . It was one thing to be having a banal conversation about exams and grading and the like - with Sansa stroking his cock beneath his desk, with her hot breaths inches away. It was another thing entirely to be having a conversation about how much the current Headmaster loathed the Starks, and was disappointed that Sansa was actually  _ good _ at her studies. If Cersei was still in charge, gods-knew where Sansa would have wound up in the city.

              Likely doing  _ this _ , but for pay.

              The thought sickened him.

              “I promise I’ll get everything in order,” Petyr repeated, though he’d already forgotten what the promises were. What existed outside of the realm of Sansa’s hands, Sansa’s mouth, and his own aching cock caught between them?

              “You better,” was all Tywin said as way of  _ goodbye _ .

              The moment the door  _ clicked _ closed, Petyr shoved away from the desk, Sansa falling forward on her knees. Her hands still wrapped around her cock. But the movement caused her mouth to fall away. No trace of it save for a single trail of saliva connecting her lush, pink lips to the swollen tip of his manhood.

              He could feel her heartbeat intertwined with the thrum in his cock. Could feel as she began to move her hand so, very, very, slowly. Almost as if she was (finally) asking for his permission to cross the boundaries.

_ Draw the line _ , Petyr told himself. He hadn’t come yet - there was still some semblance of a boundary left between them, between a student and his teacher. Even if the teacher was the one being used. Even if the student was so willing to show what she knew.

              Even if it felt so fucking  _ good _ .

              He hated himself for those two words: “Don’t stop.”

              So she didn’t. Sansa was so innocent when it came to this, but gods if it didn’t turn him on. The way she tested him with her fingers, the way she tasted him with her tongue and lips. How she glanced up at him -  _ Is this okay Mr Baelish _ \- all the while Petyr knew he should have screamed  _ No no it’s not okay at all _ .

              All the while his mind teased:  _ Then tell her to stop _ .

              His hands lifted to tangle in her hair (such beautiful hair), instead finding enough rationale to grip the edge of the desk instead as she worked her mouth up and down. Slow strokes, erratic pressure, nothing at all  _ sexy _ about it. 

              Except Petyr didn’t last more than a dozen strokes before he felt his cock swell with need. Pulled out of her mouth (against his baser judgement) and watched his come splatter over the surface of the desk.

              Sansa was startled, but not upset. 

              She reached up and swiped a finger through the mess, testing its stickiness between thumb and forefinger, before placing it in her mouth.

              Petyr tried to look away, but could not. 

              “Sorry, Mr Baelish. I just wanted to know if you tasted as good as you look.”

_ Fuck me,  _ he thought.  _ I’m not going to make it through the semester _ .

              Sansa smiled - so sweetly, so innocently, the taste of his come still on her tongue. Smiled like she knew exactly what he was thinking. And was well prepared to take it as a  _ challenge _ .

**Author's Note:**

> [Okay I realize these two ficlets I’ve written have a similar….theme lmao.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ fight me]


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